My Precious Peek (2)
I pondered deeply for a moment. What was the most rational way—fitting for an all-ages webtoon level, or at least plausibly deniable—to catch a glimpse of Do Ha-min's little pride?
"Whoa... what's up, Do-young? You suddenly got that super-focused look."
"Shh, can you be quiet for a sec? You're messing up the equations in my head."
"S-sorry... I won't say a word. Didn't mean to interrupt your concentration."
I'm trying to figure out how to legally peek at your dick right now, so don't talk to me.
With one half of my brain, I solved the problem Do Ha-min had made for me. With the other, I ran simulations on how to naturally expose his pride without raising alarms.
Wait, how can I think two totally different things at once?
Simple—Ban Do-young has three brains.
First option: Wait for a moment like this, when we're alone, and go for it.
'Hey, Do Ha-min! Drop your pants!'
'W-what the hell?!'
'Get over here!'
'Master! Save me!'
'Ban Do-young, you're insane! Never bring Ha-min to our house again! Stay away from him!'
Nope, forcing it at home was a no-go. Unless his parents were on some long overseas business trip like in a light novel and never showed up—which they weren't. At the Ban house, Dad—Ban Do-che—was always lurking either upstairs or in the dojo downstairs. One wrong move, and checking the size of Do Ha-min's pride could land me labeled a sex offender.
Not labeled—it would be sexual assault, objectively. Even as the world's most beautiful girl, I couldn't afford a criminal record.
House and dojo with Dad always around? Cross that off the list.
School without Dad? Obviously not.
'Hey, Do-ppul-bbung! Pants off! I'll take a look!'
'W-what are you saying all of a sudden?!'
'Get over here!'
'Teacher, help!'
'Ban Do-young! Are you in your right mind? That's a school sex crime—expulsion! Stay away from Do Ha-min from now on!'
Way faster and more certain arrest ending than at home. Too many eyes and ears at school.
"Forcing it seems tricky... too many variables. Hmm. Tough problem. Charging in blindly like before would just trap me instead."
"Whoa, impressive. Do-young, your ability to analyze problem types has improved a ton."
"What do you do when the answer's hiding in the back? If you tell me the method, I bet I could find it."
I consulted Do Ha-min on the most appropriate way to peek at his dick.
"Hmm... In those cases, you preemptively eliminate the variables that let the answer hide, then set up an equation that traps it in range. Way faster than plugging in every option."
"Oh, yeah, that makes sense. Pro tip absorbed."
His advice cracked open the trap in the original problem I'd set.
Location didn't matter for confirming his pride's size. Every simulation ended the same: my aggressive push led to Do Ha-min fleeing or calling for help.
The equation itself was flawed. I couldn't pull it down myself. He had to do it himself.
Like the pure-love formula I'd mentioned before. Not one-sided leading, but mutual agency.
But how? What could make the protagonist willingly show his thing to the heroine?
What I wanted wasn't some obligatory romcom trope—it was pure personal greed.
How could I twist my selfish desire into his voluntary action?
"Hmmm..."
"When you're stuck, go back to the problem. The path to the answer's always right there."
"Right there, huh..."
What was around me right now?
I took a deep breath, then scanned the room.
Ban Do-young's third-floor bedroom, only reachable via the annoying two flights of stairs. Do Ha-min and I were crouched alone on the floor with a table between us.
On the table: his custom problem bank for me, basic stationery. Fruit and snacks Dad had sliced up, insisting I study hard. The Zero Lime can he'd bought instead of kendo fees, and coffee he'd prepped in case I dozed off.
The answer I sought was close, like he said—hiding right there under the table's shadow, inside his uniform pants, fast asleep.
Or maybe not sleeping, since he's in a room with the world's top beauty—could be standing at attention. But from this eyeball estimate, it looked dormant.
It had to be. Any bulge right now would ruin the whole point.
Forcing it was off-limits, as I'd said. That'd be like snatching the teacher's answer key instead of solving it.
"Hmmm... Can't solve it with just what's here, though..."
"If the clues don't spark it, think about why those clues are together. That'll help."
"Why they're together..."
Problem book, stationery, snacks, Do Ha-min. Why were they in my room?
Right—midterms.
After mock exams, the school threatened after-school cram sessions for anyone below average on midterms. I'd hit average to dodge forced study hall, thanks to Do Ha-min ditching his model student rep and bargaining with Ms. Yeo Mi-so for this setup.
"I get it... A deal. I just need to make a deal!"
"W-what? I thought you were finally focusing, but why're you suddenly saying 'slut'?"
"No, not slut—deal!"
"Oh, you actually said 'deal.' I thought... never mind."
Do Ha-min, you punk. You heard me say "deal" clear as day. Figured it'd sound more like me to say "slut" instead, huh?
Not wrong, but it irks me a bit. I'll let it slide this once.
Finally, I saw my answer—the way to drag him into my selfish scheme legitimately.
'Mom! Buy me a Nintendo!'
'Get 100 on your test, and I will.'
'Deal, just wait!'
Why didn't I think of that? I'd WWE'd my parents over it as a kid plenty of times.
Win rate: abysmal.
"But bringing up 'deal' now is weird anyway. You can't bargain problems for scores. You weren't focusing on the problems at all, were you, Ban Do-young?"
"Hahaha, got duped again, Do Ha-min."
"Knew it... So those questions earlier were all BS too, huh?"
"Think what you want. But thanks to your advice, I found the perfect answer for me."
"Sigh... Thought you'd finally figured out how to face the test problems."
He clutched his head, letting out a deep sigh thick with dashed hopes turning to disappointment.
"Don't worry too much—I just found the ultimate motivator. The great Ban Do-young gets dead serious when her desires are on the line."
"For real...?"
"Wanna hear it?"
"...Fine, lay it on me."
I grabbed Do Ha-min's shoulders with both hands and declared triumphantly.
"You said our class mock average was around 50, right?"
"Yeah, Ms. Mi-so mentioned it."
"I'll add 19 points to that."
"Add...? To the target score?"
"Yep. My midterm goal: class average of 69."
Like a batter calling his home run, I declared my bare-minimum cutoff to Do Ha-min.
"B-but why 19? Might as well make it 20 for 70, right?"
"Nah, two digits jumping feels suffocating. 19's perfect."
People are hypersensitive to leading digits in numbers. 40,000 won feels insanely expensive, but 39,800? Reasonable.
A razor-thin, believable wall stokes desire best.
"Setting high goals to fire you up is good, but... boosting the average 19 points ain't easy. Means nailing 4-5 more high-scorers per subject."
"That's why I need that motivator I mentioned."
Bulsago High midterms: nine subjects—core Korean, math, society, science, English, plus history, ethics, tech/home ec, and classical Chinese. Total 900 points. I needed 621+ for my 69 average.
Tough for me—a decade off studies—with Ban Do-young's thick-skulled hardware.
"From now till midterms end, no weird pranks at school, dojo, or home. Promise."
"Y-you're going that far?"
"Gotta prove my resolve without the leotard, right?"
"So... what's this motivator?"
"Hehe..."
I pointed right at Do Ha-min's eyes and said,
"One wish."
"...A wish?"
"If I hit my target this time, you grant me one wish."